‘I have my stick; I can make it.’
It took me quite a lot longer, but at least I slid into no bushes and was much cleaner than he when I reached him. ‘All right. If it was a dry day, and he was at least as fit as you, he could have done it faster. That’s if this is the right place, the place where the poor guy went in.’
‘He was younger, at any rate.’ Alan’s breathing still hadn’t quite slowed to normal; he sounded annoyed at the slow-down imposed by age. ‘He almost certainly could have got down in time to at least try to help.’
‘Yes. And the question is: why didn’t he?’
There was a bench just a few feet away. It was wet, but we were both wet anyway from brushing against the shrubbery. We sat. ‘You’re making the assumption,’ said Alan, ‘that Eileen is telling the truth and Armstrong was lying to his office help.’
‘Yes. And you are assuming the same. Can’t fool me. And besides our personal inclination, there’s the fact that the man reported nothing to the police. I repeat, then, why did a doctor, a man in the business of saving lives, not even try to save this one?’
‘Get out your notebook and we’ll make a list.’
‘I didn’t bring my purse. But wait a minute.’ I rummaged in the multiple pockets of my rain jacket and found a napkin and, for a wonder, a pen. With my phone serving as hard surface, I could make do. ‘OK, shoot. But we’ll have to keep our ideas short.’
‘Right. My first notion is he was in a hurry. Late for something, perhaps.’
‘We can check with Mildred. I’m sure she kept his calendar.’ I wrote down Late? and then chewed my pen in thought. ‘That would mean he was running toward something. But people also run away. And they usually do it out of fear. What could he have been afraid of?’
‘Afraid of being pulled into the water and drowning himself. Afraid of being unable to save the chap.’
‘That last would be a terrible blow to his ego, of course. Dr Armstrong the superman, can’t even pull someone out of the river.’ I wrote down Drowning and then Incompetence.
‘Or we could adopt Eileen’s hypothesis.’ Alan thought for a moment. ‘If the poor fellow was pushed, and Armstrong saw it, he ran from fear of a murderer.’
The very thought terrified me. A breeze had sprung up, but it wasn’t a chill that made me shiver. ‘And Eileen was there, too. And she did run down to try to help! What if the murderer had seen her? She could have—’
‘Easy, love. We’re dealing with a hypothetical situation here. If there was a murderer, if someone saw him, if, if, if. Do we know the time of the drowning? The time of day, that is?’
I searched my memory. ‘Eileen said “rather late”. I don’t know what that means, though.’
‘I was wondering about the vision question. How dark was it? How clearly could anyone have seen? And I’m trying to work out the geography. Were there streetlamps anywhere that could have got in someone’s eye or dazzled away their night vision? And of course all this matters only if the man was pushed.’
‘And there’s no way to know that, at this late date.’ I sighed and put the napkin back in my pocket. ‘Alan, we need a miracle.’
The cathedral bells began to chime for evensong just then, and we both laughed.
Alan called David as we wandered back to the castle after evensong. ‘Any news at your end?’
He listened for a moment and then turned to me. ‘He wants to take us to dinner tonight, and wonders if you’d enjoy the posh place he mentioned before.’
‘Tell him I’d like that very much.’
‘He’ll pick us up at the usual place at seven,’ said Alan.
‘Good. That’ll give me time to bathe and change into something worthy of the elegant surroundings.’
When we got to the Hotel Indigo, I was glad I’d taken the trouble to put on a dress. I usually travel with one presentable outfit, just in case, and I would have felt very uncomfortable in jeans in the marble and stained-glass surroundings. ‘It once housed the Durham County Council,’ David told us as we were escorted into the lofty domed dining room, ‘and when they moved out the university bought it and used it for some time. The hotel, I’m told, spent a fortune converting it, and the results show off the effort and expense.’
The food was just as impressive as the surroundings, and we paid it full justice by leaving the discussion of crime and mystery until we had finished our meal. David, very animated, talked at some length about the history of the building, of the room we were seated in – ‘the old Senate chamber’ – the university use of the building, the renowned chef, and so on. I wondered how he, a very recent resident of the city, knew all this, but kept still. I was too busy enjoying the food and my surroundings to care, really.
When I had eaten the last bite of my treacle tart, David summoned the waiter for the bill, and said, ‘Shall we repair to the bar for something pleasant to round off the evening?’
‘I couldn’t eat one more thing,’ I protested. ‘Not a peanut. Not an olive. Zero.’
‘But I’m sure you could manage a small cognac,’ he insisted.
‘I could, at any rate,’ said Alan, so off we went to the bar, which was at least as intimidatingly elegant as the rest of the place.
‘All right, old friend,’ said Alan when we’d toasted our host, ‘you’ve wined and dined us, and we’re extremely grateful, but it’s time to start this meeting. You hinted that there were things you needed to tell us.’
The cheerful bonhomie was wiped off David’s face as if by a switch. ‘I hadn’t wanted to tell you, but I must. First, I want to apologize. I should never have involved you in this, a family matter. I had wanted you to enjoy Durham, and instead I’ve thrust you into an unpleasant and possibly dangerous situation. I’ll never forgive myself. I had no idea it would turn into such a—’
‘David.’ I interrupted him and put my hand on his arm. ‘Alan and I have not been “thrust into” anything. We could have said no and gone home. We have stayed here, and stuck with the investigation, because you needed help. And I know Alan feels the same way I do; we’re not giving up until there’s a resolution. Now tell us what’s upset you.’
‘There’s been another attack. And this time there’s very little doubt that it was Aunt Amanda who was responsible.’
TWELVE
We were back in our room at the castle. ‘I think,’ Alan had said with deliberation, ‘that we should discuss this in private.’ So we abandoned our drinks and David drove us as near home as we could get.
Alan appropriated a chair from the Great Hall and took it up to our room. That pretty well filled the available space, but at least we could all sit in some comfort. I made decaf for everyone, and we settled, cups in hand, to hear David’s story.
‘They called me this afternoon. It was a woman who was attacked this time, a resident who’s at least as far gone as Aunt Amanda. She wasn’t killed. Apparently she was able to struggle and cry out. She knocked the lamp off her bedside table, and the crash brought a staff member in a hurry. By that time the woman was sobbing and panting for breath.’
‘And she accused Amanda.’ My heart was so heavy I could hardly speak.
‘She accused no one. She wasn’t even able to tell us what had happened. By now she’s probably forgotten most of it. She certainly would not be able to testify in court, or even dictate a deposition.’
‘But why are they trying to pin it on Amanda?’ Now I was angry.
‘The pillow was hers.’
‘Was from her room. That doesn’t mean—’
‘No. It was her own, a special, small, soft pillow with handmade lace trim.’ I nodded, remembering the pretty thing. ‘She brought it from home because it’s very special to her. A favourite niece made it; she remembers that, for some reason. She never uses it, but it always sits on the little sofa in her room. Now it’s stained with lipstick, and the lace is torn, and she’s very upset.’ He shook his head. ‘Every time she sees it she cries and wonders how that could have happen
ed.’
‘But surely they’ll have taken it away as evidence?’ Alan frowned.
David threw up his hands. ‘Evidence of what? No one saw the incident. The victim can’t tell us about it. Amanda can’t tell us about it. No one was seriously hurt. Yes, the pillow was found in Mrs Carly’s room – she’s the victim – and it didn’t walk there by itself. But there’s no question of prosecution.’
We waited. ‘But?’ asked Alan after a fraught silence.
‘But they’re booting her out. They told me, just before I talked to you, Alan, that I have a week to find her another place to live.’
I thought of that sweet old lady, living happily in a world of her own, surrounded by her few cherished keepsakes, cared for by people who were kind and who understood about her muddled mind. I thought of her being uprooted, confused and miserable, and I had to wipe away a tear. ‘That must not happen,’ I said in an unsteady voice. ‘We mustn’t let that happen!’ That came out better. Anger was replacing sorrow. I have always found anger, righteous anger, to be a wonderfully energizing emotion.
‘We can’t stop it, Dorothy. Their minds are made up.’
‘Then we have to unmake them. Who’s “they”, anyway?’
‘Williams and the board of trustees. They have a legitimate concern. I accept that. They can’t have the residents going in fear of their lives. The whole point of the Milton Home is to provide a safe and serene and comfortable haven where the elderly can live out their lives in peace.’
‘And for the owners to make a great deal of money while they’re at it,’ I growled. ‘If word gets out that there’s a maniac about the place, actually living there among them, families are going to take their grannies and aunties out of there so fast they’ll trample anyone in their way. And there goes all that lovely lolly.’ David and Alan both opened their mouths, but I held up a hand. ‘Okay, I’m not saying they don’t provide value for money. They do. The residents get the loving care their families are paying for. The staff are, I think, genuinely devoted to the old dears. But the bottom line is always the first consideration of any business, and this is a business, no matter how compassionate. Of course, they’ll throw Aunt Amanda under the bus without a second thought. But we’re going to stop them!’
‘How?’ asked David, in utter defeat.
‘We’re going to find out who the real criminal is and vindicate Amanda once and for all.’
‘How?’ This time it was Alan asking, and sounding as if he really wanted to know.
‘I don’t know yet. And I’ve had too much wine and cognac to think clearly tonight. But first thing in the morning we’re on it. David, how early can you be here? We’ll wangle some way for you to join us for breakfast and have a council of war.’
I had forgotten, the night before, that we would wake to Sunday, but the bells reminded me. They weren’t as loud as at home, where they were almost over our heads, but they woke us and got us moving. We had thought about attending the early service, since we love the old Book of Common Prayer, but our meeting with David seemed to take priority. There was very little time to accomplish a Herculean task. We’d get our plans made and go to church later. ‘Because,’ said Alan in his pre-coffee grumpiness, ‘it’s certainly going to need divine intervention.’
David told us he’d eaten breakfast before he came, but he was glad of a cup of coffee in the room before we went down to our splendid dining hall, and he patiently sat with us while we indulged in far more calories and cholesterol than we ever had at home.
‘Has anyone had any brilliant inspirations since last night?’ I asked brightly.
Silence. David sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Dorothy, but I haven’t had any productive ideas at all.’
Alan shook his head. I was determined to keep up an optimistic façade. ‘Well, never mind. Our minds will work better after we’ve finished eating. You know you always blame low blood sugar when I go all muzzy. And morning in church won’t hurt, either. Will you come with us, David?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going back out to see Aunt Amanda. I suppose I ought to be looking for another haven for her, but …’ He spread his hands in despair.
‘Never mind. She won’t have to move. You’ll see.’
I had the feeling they both knew I was whistling in the dark.
The service at the cathedral was, of course, lovely. Our first Sunday in Durham, David had taken us to a small parish church, so this was our first experience with the magnificence of Durham Cathedral worship. The organ was being repaired, but they had a small portable one that produced an amazing sound, and the choir was wonderful. We were accustomed to terrific music at our home church in Sherebury, of course, and had come to expect it at any English cathedral. What I had not expected in this mammoth and world-famous church was the sense of family, of a parish church. I had already experienced the sense of belonging here. Now I felt a part of the fabric of the church. This place was plainly still a place of worship, no matter how many tourists thronged its impressive aisles. Like the tiny Norman chapel at the castle, this church had preserved its reason for being. I stopped gaping at the architecture and settled myself to listen to the lessons.
On this Sunday not long after Easter, the scriptures focussed on love. ‘Greater love hath no man … The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep …’ The choir sang one of my favourite anthems, John Ireland’s lovely setting of the text from the Song of Solomon, ‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it …’
Floods. Drown. Suddenly my mind flew from the church down to the riverbank. I was watching a young man drown, and an older man doing nothing to save him. Water. Drown.
Alan had to nudge me to pass the collection plate along. I followed the rest of the service, sat and stood and knelt at the right times, made the responses, but only the very top layer of my brain was engaged. The rest was furiously thinking.
As soon as the service was over I grabbed Alan’s arm and hurried him out, passing the Venerable Bede’s tomb without a second thought.
When we hit the cobblestones he made me stop. ‘We’re neither of us young enough to hurry on this surface. And why are you acting like you’re fleeing a fire?’
‘I’ve got to call David! I’ve had an idea!’ And I wouldn’t say another word till we were back in our room with David on the phone.
‘David, we have to meet. I’m sorry to pull you away from poor Amanda, but we can’t go out there without a car, so you’ll have to come to us. Will you come to the castle, or shall we meet you some place for lunch?’
The small restaurant was crowded with families seeking Sunday lunch. In our secluded corner, we could talk, if we kept it down.
‘All right, here’s my idea. Alan, you said it was going to take divine inspiration, and certainly it came to me in church, for what that’s worth. I don’t know how brilliant it is, but it at least takes us in a new direction.’ I took a deep breath. ‘David, I want you to find out as much as you can about the man who drowned. Now, before you both roll your eyes and say again that you think I’m going off on tangents, just listen to what I have to say. Dr Armstrong was there the day of the accident – if that’s what it was. He behaved oddly, not even trying to help, and he lied about it later to his office assistant or nurse or whatever her title was. Something about that drowning is peculiar, and a peculiar thing involving a man who is murdered a few days later is worth looking into. And we’ve hit dead ends everywhere else.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Investigating a crime in a setting where most of the possible witnesses can’t remember what happened five minutes ago is pretty challenging, I admit, but we must do what we can. No, scratch that. We must do everything necessary to identify the criminal.’
‘You are a fighter, aren’t you, Dorothy?’ David looked at me with a new respect.
‘I never thought of myself that way, but in a good cause, yes, I guess I am. I’m stubborn, anyway. Maybe that’s sometimes a good thing.’
‘Very
well,’ said Alan. ‘I don’t say I agree with everything you’ve said, but I do agree that this is an avenue worth pursuing. David, you have contacts with the police. If you can get us a name and other particulars, we can then decide how to pursue the chap’s background.’
‘And it will be our pursuit,’ said David with a sigh. ‘The police aren’t going to be interested, or willing to commit resources to the task.’
‘But that’s what we do best,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Rushing in where angels, or in this case the police, fear to tread. David, I hate to hurry you, but we haven’t much time. Do you suppose you could get anything out of them on a Sunday?’
That at least brought a smile to the faces of the two men. ‘The police don’t take Sundays off, Dorothy. Yes, I’ll go to the station. Someone will talk to me, if only to get me out of their hair. But we can take time to enjoy our lunch first.’
I suppose it was good. The chunk of roast lamb was huge; so was the Yorkshire pudding. There were enough vegetables to make a meal for a vegan. I later regretted ploughing through it without tasting a thing.
Alan looked at my plate when it was empty, and then at me. ‘You certainly enjoyed that.’
I looked down and realized my plate was empty except for a few smears of gravy. ‘Oh. Yes.’
‘Anyone want dessert?’ David offered. ‘They do wonderful crumbles here.’
I tried not to show my impatience. ‘No, thank you.’
Alan, of course, caught it. ‘She’s champing at the bit, David. Shall I go with you to the police station?’
I don’t know how I survived the next couple of hours. I couldn’t settle to anything. I lay down to try for a nap, but the squirrel in my mind refused to stop running around its wheel, posing the same questions over and over. Why didn’t Armstrong go to the rescue? Did someone deliberately drown the young man? What did this have to do with Armstrong’s death? Why is someone still raising havoc at the nursing home? Who killed Armstrong and why?
Death Comes to Durham Page 9
